


I See You: Figuratively not Literally

by DenDragon14



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Birthdays, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Blind Character, Clarke is a bitch, Cop! Bellamy, Depression, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Family Dinners, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Gen, Holidays, Intimacy, John Murphy/Bellamy Blake/ Paxton McCreary, Love Shapes, Love Triangle, Love/Hate, M/M, Making Up, McCreary does have a heart, McCreary is a dad, Mugging, Multi, Murphy can cook, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Protective Bellamy, Redemption, Roommates, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Things are getting out of control, blind! John Murphy, kink discussion, love square, medic! Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenDragon14/pseuds/DenDragon14
Summary: Bellamy didn't know what Murphy saw in Paxton McCreary, and no, he wasn't trying to make a blind joke. He, Clarke and Murphy had been happily in a relationship, or so he assumed. Murphy left without giving a reason, and now seeing him with this ex-criminal is making his blood boil.Paxton McCreary really hadn't noticed the blind cane the stranger was holding. Upon their first meeting, he'd been looking for a fight. Several weeks later, he was walking the stranger-John- home. Their relationship had come on suddenly after that, but he liked the smug little bug. And the smug little bug liked him back, although he wasn't sure why. But now he is starting to notice that John's room mates, at least two of them, have it out for him.Murphy was really tired of people treating him like he was three. He was blind, not incapable or stupid. He didn't want someone holding his hand every step of the way. Paxton had threatened him when they first met. He'd never expected an act of kindness to come from that asshole. Normally, he wouldn't have accepted the help, but at the time, it was better than calling Bellamy.orWhat originally started as McMurphy short story, which then turned into something much more.





	1. Let me walk you home

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the show in which they come from. All rights go to their proper creators and owners.
> 
> Sorry for an errors or typos--I was in a hurry to edit this before I had to go to work.
> 
> Also, if this offends anyone for whatever reason, I apologize. There was no intention to offend anyone, so please no hate.

 

He had promised his probation officer that he'd stop picking fights. One bar brawl had turned into manslaughter of two and had landed him a decade in jail, but it had all been a misunderstanding-swear to god- that had got blown way out of proportion. Luckily enough, there was such a thing as getting early parole for good behavior; he knew how to behave well when it worked in his favor. Now that he was back on the streets, try as he might, McCreary was finding it incredibly hard to not start any physical altercations. He still fought with his roommates at the halfway house, but that was all in good nature, most of the time. But when it came to assholes he encountered in public, Paxton found himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fists as he allowed these strangers around him to treat him like garbage and walk all over him. Sometimes he wondered if he could hold out on beating someone to a pulp before he was finished with parole. Sadly, he didn't think he could.

  
So to distract himself, McCreary made himself a routine that would keep him as relaxed as possible and made sure to stick to it. Pent up anger never did any good, even when the irrational part of him said that anger and violence was the solution to everything. Eventually, he and his buddies had begun to frequent local places in town together--a gym, a community town centre, and diner, to name a few. He, Vinson and several other of his halfway house buddies would have lunch every other Saturday at the same diner, just outside of Polis, called The Garden of Eat-In. It was a cheesy pun, but the food was decent, although the floral and forest décor was bit much for him. And the waitresses working there were pretty easy on the eyes too.

Today though, he hadn't been able to fully enjoy his meal due to feeling some unwanted eyes on him.

  
Across the diner, sitting at a table near the middle of the room, a young man was staring at him. At first, it wasn't a cause for concern--Paxton had grown used to being gawked at every now and then. However, this person would just not stop staring at him and it was beginning to rub him the wrong way, it was practically putting the hairs on the back of his neck up on end. He hated the feeling of being watched consistently, it felt as though someone had shoved fire ants underneath his skin. He assumed it was from his time in the clinker that resulted in his paranoia of people-it hadn't helped that he had been a fairly paranoid individual to begin with. It didn't matter to him that this guy gawking at him was actually fairly attractive, the gaze he was giving him was like a camera-never fucking blinking.  
Having enough, Paxton bolted to his feet and stalked over towards the table the younger man sat at.

  
"You got a problem, you little bug?" he growled, glaring down at the younger man. He slammed his hand down onto the table, causing several heads to turn towards the commotion in fear.  
"Why have you been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes?" There was no real expression on the younger man's face as he stood up and Paxton had to say that he was impressed that this smug little bug didn't seem afraid or intimidated by him. He turned to face McCreary and the two of them were practically toe to toe.

"I wasn't aware I was staring at you." the younger man said. McCreary's hands clenched into fists as he saw the younger man's hands shifting, preparing for a fight, only to realize that he was holding something n his hands. He felt his body tense, thinking that it was some type of weapon. But what the man was holding in his hands unfolded, straightening out to form a cane.

As quickly as the anger had appeared, it evaporated, replaced only by embarrassment for himself. He glanced at the staff in the younger man's hands, immediately identifying it as a cane for the blind. He fought the urge to smack himself in the head.

Before he could say anything further, another young man, covered in freckles with a mop of dark hair that was starting to curl, approached the table. He glared at McCreary with what could only be described as extreme caution before glancing over to his friend.  
"Is this guy bothering you, Murphy?" the freckled man asked. He glared at McCreary, a protective hand coming to rest on "Murphy's" shoulder, the other holding a doggy bag to go of food. Murphy shrugged the hand off.

"I don't think he realized I was blind, Bell," he said. He stuck a hand out to McCreary. "It's fine. You're not the first. I'll let it slide this time; let bygones be bygones." Slowly, out of good habits he had learned, McCreary took the boy's hand and firmly shook it. He still couldn't shake how embarrassed and stupid he felt, more so than usual. As he made his way back to his table, he noticed Vinson smiling. Not the creepy sort of smile that he got when he fantasize about doing horrible things to innocent people, but a smile that was smug and one step away from being a laugh.

"You keep your trap shut," he growled.

* * *

Several weeks later,  he spotted the blind, attractive boy-Murphy- again as he was leaving the diner; he wasn't sure why he remembered the younger man's name. McCreary's friends had already made their way half way down the street and they didn't seem to notice that Paxton wasn't following them. His attention was caught by a small scuffle going on just outside the diner. For a moment, he stopped and stared at the scene going on before him, assessing it. He knew that he could be a cruel man when necessary, but he'd never pick a fight with someone who couldn't defend themselves. So as he watched two men, their identities hidden in thick hoodies, wrestle with Murphy for his wallet and coat, Paxton could only wonder what kind of assholes would choose to rob a blind guy. It was easy pickings of course, but any good pick pocket wouldn't go for the easy prey; it wasn't enough of a challenge.

  
He felt the itch to join in the fight, to knock in their teeth and rattle their tiny brains, but he stopped, gritting his teeth. He wasn't allowed to fight, not even if it was to help someone. To his parole officer and to the judge, a fight was a fight, no matter the intention. So all he could do was watch; the itch quickly turned into an ache that raced up his finger tips and through his arms.

  
He was glad to see that Murphy was attempting to fight back though. He didn't know much about blindness, and he didn't know much about Murphy either, so perhaps he could see a bit, but not enough. Needless to say, the punches he swung did not hit their mark, and McCreary watched as Murphy stumbled forward, catching himself last moment before he face planted on the sidewalk. His muggers danced around him, laughing at him.

  
And he had promised he wouldn't break his parole. He'd already served six years, he couldn't go back for the remaining four, he was convinced he'd go insane or kill someone, which ever came first. So he'd try the next best thing; intimidation.  
"Hey," he yelled, stalking over to strangers, his face set in what he hoped was an "I'll kill you" expression. One look at him and the two muggers took off like gazelles spotting a lion,  their prizes-Murphy's belongings- in hand. McCreary grabbed one of his arms and pulled the younger man to his feet.

  
"I didn't need your help," he muttered, stepping out from under his touch. McCreary scoffed but restrained himself from making further comment. Without any further exchange of words, Murphy started to leave, but McCreary grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him back as he realized the kid was going to wander off into the middle of the street.  
"Sure," he replied, trying to keep himself from smirking, "Whatever you say kid. How about you figure out your surroundings before you go wandering off? You almost walked out into the street, you dummy." 

Murphy muttered something under his breath, turning away from McCreary.

"What's that," McCreary asked, sarcastically, "Couldn't hear you?"  
Murphy turned back towards him, his face contorted in anger. "I said fuck off!" McCreary smiled at the younger boy's anger- he sure seemed like a real spit fire! He watched, interested, as Murphy patted down his body, feeling for something on his person. Not finding what he wanted, he cursed under his breath, a deep groan of annoyance coming from his throat.

  
"Well why don't you call one of your buddies?" he asked. A clear "fuck off" expression was sent his way, which made McCreary smile even wider. "Oh wait, you don't have a phone, do you? Those guys stole it off you." He tried to tone down the sarcasm in his voice. " How about you ask someone to make a call for you?" Perhaps his sarcasm had been replaced with pity, because he saw the way in which Murphy angrily clenched his jaw and then tried to side step around McCreary. Clearly, he had had enough of him, but McCreary wanted him to stick around just a bit longer, he really wasn't sure why.

He heard Murphy grumble something under his breath again.

"You should really learn to speak up." he said, suppressing a chuckle.

"I'm embarrassed, okay," he snapped. "Is that what you want to hear?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes darting around before they focused on McCreary's forehead, his expression still clearly pissed off. "You probably don't get it, all you entitled seeing people!" He turned away and wandered a couple steps before turning back,  anger still written on his face.

"How'd you feel if you asked someone to call home for you because you can't see the fucking numbers, or ask which side the men's room is on because you can't understand fucking braille?"

Although he was an "entitled seeing" person, McCreary could understand the younger man's want for independence. His entire life growing up, he hadn't really relied on anyone. His father had been thrown in the slammer when he was five, his mom had spent the majority of his childhood with booze and strange men, so young Paxton had been left to fend for himself at a young age. And he had been able to do things on his own, without feeling the sting of people taking pity on him. He could only imagine how this kid felt, being blind and wanting to do things for himself, but have people taking pity on him because he couldn't see. Perhaps they thought it was sympathy, but there was a difference between the two.

"I can walk you home," he said, "If you want. I mean, you know the steps on how to get there, or do you take the bus-" He stopped talking abruptly as he caught sight of the expression on Murphy's face. It was one of confusion mostly, laced with a trace amount of anger. He wasn't even sure why he had spoken those words in the first place, he wished he could shove them back into his mouth and swallow them.  
"You don't even know me," Murphy replied, "Why are you trying to help me?" 

"I know you. We met a few weeks ago. I was the guy that accused you of staring at me."  
Murphy shook his head, scoffing as a smirk crept onto his face. "Figures. You got a name?"

"McCreary."

* * *

  
He had to admit that he was impressed that Murphy remembered where they were going by memory alone; he couldn't even figure out directions with street signs and landmarks, he was sure he'd be hopeless if all he had to go by was how many turns he made or whatever the hell Murphy was going off of. McCreary was not familiar with the place they were headed to, but it was a nice neighborhood. Much better than where he was currently situated. He imagined that this was the kind of neighborhood that Charmaine lived in when she talked about her new home in the letters she wrote him. He wished that those letters had continued, that the pictures of his daughter-Hope- had continued to come, but like everything good in his life, it vanished.

They eventually stopped at a corner house. It needed a new paint job, but the lawn was nicely manicured, and the small little fence around the perimeter of the front yard wasn't rusting. McCreary could see a young woman lounging on the front porch, her feet kicked up onto the railing. Upon seeing Murphy and himself in front of the house, she got her feet smoothly, glaring at them wearingly from the shaded front steps.

"Who's he," the girl demanded, her gaze suspicious. There was a moment's pause. No doubt he and Murphy were trying to think of a quick answer that wouldn't raise suspicion.  
"He's a friend," Murphy explained, slowly, as though he was testing the word out for the first time. The young woman on the porch glared icy daggers at him, before  propping open the screen door.  
"Well, friend of Murphy," the girl said, addressing McCreary, "You can go now."  She turned sharply on her heel and headed inside the house, the screen door slapping shut behind her.  
"Don't mind Echo. She's like that with everyone."

"Cold and frigid?"   
"Only with strangers. She warms up a bit when you get to know her." He turned to face McCreary. McCreary wasn't sure if it was the cool wind from the approaching winter, or if Murphy was actually blushing, but the rosiness in his cheeks was, dare he say, cute. "Thanks, for walking me home, McCreary."

"Don't mention it," he muttered. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, turning himself around to head back the way they had come.

"Hey," Murphy said, grabbing McCreary by the wrist. He stuck out his free hand, aimed higher than where a handshake would be. "Do you mind if I feel your face?" Now he could feel a blush creeping up his neck, and was grateful that Murphy more than likely couldn't see it.

"Uh...sure."

His hands weren't soft and dainty as though they'd never experienced a day of work in his life, but they weren't overly rough with callouses either. They felt nice on his skin, cool but not cold or clammy. He closed his eyes as Murphy ran his hand over his eyes and down over his nose. McCreary pretended to ignore how the younger man's fingertips lingered over his lips.  
He saw a smirk crawl onto Murphy's face. He lowered his hand back to his side and turned towards the house, keeping a hand out to feel for the stair railing. Without any further words, he walked into the house, closing the door behind him.

* * *

  
After that day, McCreary wasn't sure what happened between the two of them, but it was like a spark had ignited a small little fire between them. McCreary continued to go about his routine and show up at the diner with his halfway house buddies as he normally did and he always managed to spot Murphy with a companion or two at a nearby table. Every time he saw him, McCreary felt this pull, wanting to get closer, and he wondered if Murphy felt it too since he would sometimes stare back in his general direction.|  
 Some days, when he saw that Murphy was alone, he went over to the table and invited the younger man over to join him and his buddies. His friends looked confused, and perhaps a bit displeased, but one murderous glare silenced them from protesting. He snapped his fingers at Vinson and motioned him to slide farther into the booth so Murphy could sit down.

McCreary was glad to see that Murphy fit in well with his parole buddies; the sarcastic little bug could handle himself, but McCreary wondered briefly if not being able to see their expressions made it easier to communicate. Or perhaps sensing the stares of others made him all the more self conscious. Either way, he admired the younger man's personality--bitter sarcasm and all.

  
There was something about him, Murphy-that made him able to smile, but he couldn't put his finger on it exactly. He hadn't genuinely smiled due to happiness in a long time; the only person who made him happy had been Charmaine, and she had ripped herself out of his life. And normally, when he smiled, it was one of a predatory nature, meant to make people quiver in fear of him. In prison, it had worked, before prison, it had worked. Now however, being with Murphy-John- he later found out- was entirely different; he could only feel Paxton smiling, but not see it. He wondered if Murphy could tell the difference between a genuine and fake smile by touch alone.

Eventually though, their relationship moved to a point where the two of them would meet up at the diner and sit alone at one of the quieter corners .They'd talk about everything and nothing, but Paxton made a point to keep the topic from getting too personal, too deep. The last time he had allowed someone to get under his skin, had ripped away a piece of his heart. Charmaine had made good to cut all ties, and hide herself, and their daughter away from his bad influences.

  
But eventually, he slipped up.

"Tell me more about yourself."  
That dreaded statement. he was wondering when that would be coming around. The last time he was requested that by anyone, it was by a shrink, and the session hadn't exactly ended well for either of them. Threats were uttered and security was involved; needless to say, that was the last time anyone recommended he try therapy for the list of problems he had. There was a lot that McCreary could say about himself, most of it information that he wanted to withhold, for the time being anyway. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As though sensing his reluctance and discomfort, Murphy leaned forward.

  
"I don't actually know that much about you," John said, sounding very serious for a change. "I want to know the person I'm dating." He placed his hand on the table, reaching out for his. He was still impressed by how John managed to not knock anything over, and thought again about asking him if he had any range of vision, but thought that it might be too rude. Hesitantly, McCreary gripped his hand in Murphy's. He pulled their intertwined hands up to his lips, and kissed Murphy's knuckles.

"I don't think you want to know much about me." he muttered, his voice coarse. His heart was pounding heavily. "I'm not exactly the nicest of guys."  
"I don't scare easy, surprisingly."

For a moment, they were both silent as McCreary gathered his thoughts, wondering where the hell to start--there was a lot of things he could discuss, but he assumed it'd be better to leave the  downright despicable things until later. He'd be brief, details could wait.

  
"Well... I was in prison for six years. But it was just a fight that got too out of hand, but the judge never went for it. Before that, I used to work some odd jobs; that was after I got fired from my job as a mechanic. And...I'm a father. But I haven't met my daughter, Only seen her pictures. Her mother didn't want me in either of their lives."  
John hummed, taking in all that he had said. he got up from his seat and Paxton briefly had wondered if he managed to get through and scare the younger man. Instead of leaving like he had expected, John crawled into McCreary's side of the booth, practically crawling into his lap.

  
"Well, if you still want to be a daddy," John whispered, that smug little smirk crawling onto his lips, "I'm game."


	2. Royally Fucked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and McCreary have been dating for awhile, and they are at a point where Murphy has invited McCreary over for dinner to meet his roommates. Things quickly go south though and the meal is left unfinished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story originally was going to be two one shots. But then I went to work and the ideas blossomed in my head. So I thought I should write it out. Feedback is very much appreciated, because I am a bit rusty in my writing lately. Hope you enjoy!

 

It had been nearly four months and he had not grown any closer to liking this Paxton McCreary fellow. There was something off about the man, and Bellamy thought that if Murphy could actually see what he looked like, he'd understand what Bellamy meant when he said that McCreary was a shady bastard. Bellamy was fresh out of the police academy, and being on patrol with his senior officers had made him more aware of what exactly shady individuals did in their free time. Rarely, was it anything good. And now, Murphy had gone and invited said shady bastard over for dinner.

Discreetly, he watched the two of them from the front room window, glowering at how McCreary brushed his hands over Murphy's face and shoulders. They were all smiles, but seeing McCreary smile made his skin crawl. McCreary, no, it was more like McCreepy.

"I don't suppose there's enough time to cancel this for whatever reason, is there?" he asked, turning back towards the kitchen filled with his roommates and the herb heavy dinner that was being prepared.  
   
 "I think you're just jealous Bellamy," Monty stated, his attention mostly focused on the sauce he was making. He glanced up from the pot, making brief eye contact. "Sorry, is the conversation not open for everyone?"  
"He was talking to himself, Monty," Harper stated. She placed all the dishes on the kitchen island and motioned for Echo to go set them on the dining table. "Because Clarke's not here yet."

The backdoor opened up and Clarke hurried on in, a frown etched on her face.  
"Speak of the devil," four voices muttered in unison. Clarke shrugged off her coat and hung it on the nearby coat rack. She pecked Bellamy on the cheek.

"Sorry for being late. Work was brutal." she turned to face everyone else, addressing them all. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing new. Bellamy's jealous, but won't admit it. " Raven replied, adding fake cheer into her voice.

"When did everyone decide to join in on this conversation," Bellamy demanded. He rubbed his temples in irritation as he tried to calm himself. Jealous, perhaps, but he knew that Clarke more than likely felt the same way. They hadn't slept in the same room at the same time since Murphy had decided to call it quits,. However, their jobs were probably the main reason why they never slept together anymore. But an empty spot in the King sized bed was another one; two in the bed wasn't enough in a bed that size. 

"I'll just put it out there," Harper exclaimed. She finished laying out the silverware and turned her attention to Bellamy and Clarke. She placed one hand on Bellamy's shoulder, the other on Clarke's. "The reason Murphy left your guys' relationship was because you two baby him too much." The two of them exchanged a look, a mixture of confused and offended; clearly this was news to both of them. Out of his peripheral vision, Bellamy could see his other room mates waiting to see what their reaction was; none of them seemed surprised.

"We do--we did not," Clarke sputtered. She folded her hands over her chest in defense, stepping out from Harper's hand. "We never babied Murphy."

"Yeah, you totally did," Raven exclaimed in agreeance. She pulled away from the fridge, her arms loaded with vegetables that Monty planned on throwing into whatever the hell he was making. She placed them on empty part of the counter and bent to retrieve a cutting board. Bellamy noticed how Clarke restrained herself from going to assist Raven; the brace on her leg often got in the way when bending over for things, but Raven would never accept help. It was her burden, no one else's, and Bellamy knew that she wouldn't be seen as a burden to others. "You two practically did everything for him."

He hadn't known if Murphy had felt like a burden or not. Otherwise he would have paid more mind to his actions; it had been the same thing with Octavia. He had smothered her, been too overprotective, he had practically all but pushed her out the door. He hated to admit that he had been in the wrong, but if all his friends could see it, then it must have been there; he and Clarke were just too oblivious to take any notice. 

"Echo, back us up here." Clarke asked. Clearly, she was still trying to win this argument even though he was sure that she could see she'd lost.  
Echo glanced at her, her eyebrows raising. She scoffed and shook her head. "Sorry, but they're right. My uncle was blind and deaf in one ear, yet he never let anyone help him with anything."  
Clarke groaned. "Isn't this the same uncle that leaves in Greenland on a very isolated part of the island?" Echo shrugged, giving Clarke a long side glance in annoyance, as though it didn't matter, which it really didn't.

 Before anymore could be said and the conversation could drift further into an argument, there was the sound of the front door opening followed by Murphy's voice calling out.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

* * *

  
Everyone froze as they heard the front door close, followed by two sets of footsteps enter into the living and dining room area. Clarke squared her shoulders, preparing herself to meet the "shady bastard" as Bellamy called him. When she entered into the living room, Murphy and "shady bastard" were sitting on the sofa, shoulders touching. She tried to ignore how one of his large hands rested on Murphy's knee.

"You must be Paxton," she said, trying to sound cheery. She held out her hand to him; thankfully, he returned it, taking his hand off of Murphy's knee. "It's nice to meet you."  
"My pleasure." He had a strong handshake, perhaps a bit too strong. His voice was rough, as though he gargled some sandpaper or hadn't had water to drink in a long while. His hair-style was strange, as though someone had forgotten to complete the job and shave the left side of his head. His eyes held a darkness in them

  
They were able to make it through the majority of the meal, albeit it was one of the most awkward meals she'd ever been to. With the three years she'd spent with her roommates, she'd grown very used to their meals getting loud with conversation and laughter. This meal was quiet though, even when people asked to pass more of a certain dish, it was muttered, as though saying anything too loud would cause something horrible to happen.

Eventually, conversation had petered out altogether and everyone seemed to draw into themselves, entirely focused on their plate and the food on it.

"So, what do you do for work, Paxton?" Clarke asked, trying her best to sound interested. She was hoping to keep things civil between everyone here, but at the same time, she was hoping that she could get McCreary out the door before dessert.

"I've been out of employment for awhile. But I'm searching for something now." Clarke hummed in thought, wondering if Bellamy would take the opportunity to turn this around on him. When the silence between everyone continued, she glared at Bellamy, urging him with just a look to say something. He glared back at her; he might not like their guest, but he didn't want to meddle any further for Murphy's sake.

"Bellamy just graduated from the police academy. Have you ever thought about going into law enforcement." Clare stated, speaking on his behalf since he wouldn't. She smiled, hoping she was rubbing salt in an open wound, metaphorically speaking. When they had heard that Murphy had began dating McCreary, Bellamy had done a background check, strictly out of curiosity, although Clarke assumed it was to have some type of leverage over him.

"Yeah, John told me you worked for the police-" Paxton replied. He flexed his hand, uncurling the fist his free hand had balled up into. "I've never seen myself as being a cop. But I understand that it is a much appreciated profession."

"Did he also tell you that Bellamy is able to preform background checks on individuals?"

"Well, no. I don't think that's any of my business..."

  
Bellamy could sense a tension around the table. Harper was resting her hand over Monty's, who was gripping the edge of the table, glaring at Bellamy, giving him a silent warning to stop. Echo and Raven had their eyes diverted to somewhere else in the room, as though pretending not to witness the experience would make it less awkward. He could feel his heart pounding anxiously against his ribcage, and he struggled to control the involuntary clenching of his jaw as he tried to settle himself.

"I don't think you should be at our table," she growled, suddenly growing defensive. "Accident or not, you still murdered people. I don't want a murderer around my friends." She glared at McCreary as McCreary glared back. She watched how his hands curled and into fists; she could practically see him vibrating with what she assumed was contained rage.

* * *

Murphy hadn't expected the conversation to go south like that so quickly. He thought that maybe it would take a few dinners or meetings like this until something unpleasant occurred, but now he wondered why he even bothered to get his hopes up. Misery just liked to shovel shit onto his doorstep despite that he was trying to do something decent. It hadn't been enough for fate to throw his world into darkness when he was five, but it had to screw around with any romantic relationship he ever had.

First there had been Emori.

Then Bellamy and Clarke. And now Paxton. They all had and continued to pull at his heartstrings in one way or another. It was exhausting, but he thought he could deal with it. But he wasn't a moron. Blind or not, he could feel the tension in the room. From the moment everyone had sat down to eat, the tension had been building like storm clouds before the heavens opened up and poured with rain. It was thick and suffocating, and Murphy could only focus on how hard it was to breath, as though his lungs didn't want to take in any bad juju.

He hadn't fully been listening to the conversation, but he knew something bad had been said, or a nerve had been struck by the way the air seemed to shift like a heavy cloth had been pulled away from covering them. He'd known Paxton was in prison, but he'd never specified for what exactly, other than it being a fight that had gotten out of hand.

Before he could say anything to try and tame the situation, he heard the squeal of a chair against the floor and felt the breeze of someone passing by him. He lunged a hand out at the last moment, just managing to brush along someone's hand, but unable to grasp it.

"Paxton!"

He tried his best to follow after McCreary, but it was literally like trying to search for something in the dark with a blindfold on. It didn't help that it was nighttime; during the day it wasn't so bad, he could see dark blobs against the white that was the light, but at night, everything was just the same shade of black. After nearly two years, he  had memorized how many steps it was from every room in the house to the front door. His problem began on the porch. It was three steps to the first step, but more often than not, he missed the first step. This was no exception, except this time, in a hurry, he  went flying down four steps to the concrete path below.

"Jesus," Murphy groaned. His palms felt scrapped from trying to catch himself last minute, as did his knees from the sudden impact. He sat back on his heels, listening to the retreating steps of his boyfriend, followed by the slamming of the car he'd driven up in which he' borrowed specifically so he could be on time. Paxton had only wanted to make a good impression on his roommates since Murphy had mentioned they were practically like family.

But he hadn't ever told him that two of his roommates were also his former lovers. He thought that could have waited; he hadn't assumed that Clarke would have been so salty, so cruel about who he was with now.

"Fuck." he muttered, defeated.

"Are you okay?" Bellamy asked, a hand on his shoulder. He didn't reply, too focused on the toxic storm of emotions he was filling inside. He heard Bellamy repeat the question. Annoyed, he swatted at where he assumed Bellamy's face to be, but found his ex-lover's hands restraining him.

"Murphy, stop."

He heard Bellamy grunt in pain as his head made contact with Bellamy's. Bellamy's hands disappeared from around his wrist and Murphy got to his feet, hands stretched out before him to feel for the stair railing. He thought about going after McCreary for a moment, but abandoned the thought; it was a lost cause right now. He'd have better luck trying to find him tomorrow.

He felt someone at the door, and based off the smell of body spray-of vanilla mixed with orange- it was Clarke. He felt her hand on his upper arm, attempting to be comforting, but he pushed past her, headed towards the stairs. Right now, he just wanted to be alone so he could sort through everything that had just happened. But also didn't want anyone to see him crying.

* * *

He watched as Murphy felt his way back up the steps and stumbled and pushed past Clarke to get back in doors. He could hear Clarke call out his name, followed by the slamming of a door from upstairs. Bellamy sighed, running hand through his hair, suddenly feeling very drained of energy. He ran a hand over his face and it came back bloody. For someone who didn't know much about self-defence, Murphy sure could head butt like a goat.

He sighed again and began to drag himself back into the house. Clarke was at the threshold of the door, looking unsympathetic about what she had caused. One glance into the dining room showed that the remainder of his roommates looked very peeved about the events that had just occurred. And yet, Echo and Raven pushed their food around on their plates, deciding whether they should finish a meal, despite everyone's appetite probably being ruined by the topic of conversation at the table.

He heard Monty groan in frustration before he got up from his spot and stormed up the stairs. He paused briefly on the first step, glaring at Clarke and himself in disgust. He opened his mouth, prepared to say something, only to shake his head in disbelief before tearing up the stairs to the room he shared with Harper. Harper followed a moment after.

"Why couldn't you two just let Murphy be happy?" 

It reminded Bellamy too much of the situation with Octavia. The guilt he was feeling was strong, and struck at his heart like a bullet. He knew he'd screwed up big time when he hadn't stopped Clarke from mouthing off about McCreary being a murderer. Murder or not, man slaughter was unintentional murder, but that was besides the point.

The point was that they'd royally fucked things over for Murphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! As mentioned in the head notes, feedback is very appreciated. And I hope there weren't too many errors; I have to get some time to edit during the day, but right now my schedule doesn't allow it.


	3. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Clarke's mind after the disastrous dinner. And the following day, Murphy decides to cook and is later given an address in where he can find Paxton to make amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any errors or typos. I was editing this late at night...again. Which I really should stop, but I didn't have time for it during the rest of the day. Hope you enjoy!

Clarke rested her head against the doorframe, taking in the sight of Murphy sitting on his bed. She wished that she could rewind time and jump back seven months to when the three of them had been happily in love. At least, she had assumed they were all happily in love. She'd never seen how unhappy Murphy had been, but the others in the house, excluding herself and Bellamy had seen it clear as day; she wished that they would have said something. However, Murphy leaving their relationship so abruptly had been like a slap to the face. At least, in her eyes, she wasn't really sure how Bellamy felt about it; they hadn't been communicating much lately.  
  
Seeming to sense that someone was near and staring at him, Murphy glared at her. She felt her heart clench upon seeing the hurt in his eyes, tears threatening to fall.  
"Fuck off, Clarke," he growled, his voice breaking as he struggled to stop from crying. She exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to maintain a calm composure.  
"Look, I don't think you should be seeing a criminal-  
  
"I knew he had a fucking record," Murphy snarled, the hurt in his eyes flaring to a bright flame of anger. "Okay, I knew he'd been in prison."  
"Did he ever say for what?"  
"I know he would have told me when he was fucking ready. It's not your business, or Bellamy's for that matter. So stop prying."  
  
"You know I care about you, right?" Clarke asked, a no-nonsense tone in her voice. "I don't want you to end up with someone who will only get you in trouble-" Murphy scoffed. He rubbed at his eyes, shaking his head as he chuckled lowly.  
"That's rich coming from you. What about you and Lexa? Wasn't she someone who only got you in trouble?" Clarke pursed her lips, calculating what to say next, if anything. She clenched a hand in irritation.  
  
No one had mentioned Lexa in a long while; the last person to mention that name had been her mother, and Clarke had practically chewed her ear off in a verbal assault. With times like that, she was glad that she wasn't an overly physical person, since fighting would do no good for anyone. However, with Murphy, she knew he'd throw a punch of two if given the chance. He had after all just head butted Bellamy not long ago.  
  
"What's the matter Clarke?" Murphy snapped, drawing her from her thoughts, "Did I strike a nerve?"  
"I'm not getting into this with you," she stated.   
"Typical Clarke," he muttered. He got up and grabbed the doorknob. "Goodnight and thanks for ruining my night." He shut the door in her face, none too gently either. For a moment she just stood there before turning on her heel and heading down the hall. "Real mature." she said under here breath as she made her way down the stairs. Clarke made her way back down to the kitchen where Echo and Raven were silently cleaning up the remains of their dinner. She joined them, bracing herself against the kitchen island.  
  
She exhaled heavily, hoping to release the tension she felt, all the while still feeling the tension in the room from earlier that night.  
"Well, are you proud that you ruined dinner?" Echo asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Monty and the rest of us all contributed to creating this meal, and yet it had to go to waste because of your pettiness." There was no sarcasm or cruelty in her words, she was merely being straight forward, which is what Echo does best. Initially upon moving in, Clarke had not liked Echo, and she still found her to be rather intolerable at times, but she definitely had her head screwed on straight.  
  
"Murphy's a big boy, he can make his own decisions," Raven said, wanting to get her two cents in, "And you just wanted to push buttons, didn't you Clarke?"  
  
"So what if I did," Clarke asked. She kept her arms from moving to cross over her chest in defense. Raven smirked and shook her head. "What?"  
"Nothing." She turned away from the sink, throwing her drying rag over her shoulder. "Just wondering. If you miss Murphy, why not try and get back together with him?" It was a simple question, one she had considered before, but she honestly couldn't see Murphy wanting to get back together with her and or Bellamy; he had been the one to call it quits in the first place. Besides, he seemed happy with this Paxton character. Silently, Clarke was hoping she had put a dent in their relationship and that Paxton and Murphy would be no more, but she doubted that her words to McCreary would change little.  
  
She missed Bellamy too, even though they had never separated but they had been spending less time together recently. She wondered if either of them missed her.

* * *

Murphy was surprisingly, the first one up the following morning, which was saying a lot since he was normally among the last to get up. And with the sleep he had had, he was surprised he was up before noon. His dreams had been haunted by ghosts of his past and ghosts of his present and he'd woken up feeling as though he was still in a dream. He'd also woken up still feeling sad, emotionally exhausted from last night, a heavy weight lingering in his chest. The events of last night played through his mind, and each time it looped around, it just succeeded in making him sadder, a mental pain that hit all the right nerves. He thought about trying to track Paxton down, but realized he had no idea where the man lived; he knew it was a halfway house and Paxton never wanted Murphy over there for "safety" reasons. And today was not their normal day to go to the diner, so he'd doubt he'd find McCreary there. But he still had his number, so perhaps he'd call him later.  
  
And after last night being a total disaster, he hoped that McCreary would pick up. He hoped that what had occurred last night would not create any bad blood between them. And whatever bad blood that had been created between Paxton and his roommates-particularly Clarke- he was hoping he could fix it. But he wasn't getting his hopes up, with the events that happened in his life, it was best not to get his hopes up since Fate liked to pull cruel pranks on him. After getting dressed, he made his way down to the kitchen.  
  
The cool feel of tile under his barefoot and the dead quiet of the room, minus the ticking of clock, was rather bizarre for him. Normally, the kitchen was one of the most liveliest rooms in the house, save for early in the morning. He wondered how people managed to get up so early and managed to function.  
But he had gotten up with a purpose in mind. Something that he was hoping would make him feel better.  
  
Perhaps it was his mood, and call him a teenage girl all you like, but he wanted food-comfort food. None of the regular healthy shit would cut it. The others had been kind enough to accommodate him when it came to keep things in the kitchen; they all made sure to put the condiments and spices in exact same place each time they were used and had put all the glasses in one cupboard, plates in the other for easier access.  
  
However, there was the odd time where he'd be expecting sugar in his coffee and was met with saltiness among the bitterness of the brew, or had wanted ketchup and ended up with salad dressing. So, it took time whenever he wanted to make anything to eat. Since sight wasn't on his side, he had to rely on taste, touch and smell of ingredients to make sure they were correct and not going rotten. So, perhaps his method of mixing a simple pancake batter wasn't the most hygienic, since he had to taste the ingredients before and after they were mixed, but it got the job done. The only problem was frying them up. He wasn't familiar with the knobs on the stove and what each did, and he didn't want to burn himself, or the house down all for the sake of making a meal. He was just beginning to consider whether or not he should throw away the batter when he heard the creaking of the floorboards upstairs.  
  
"Woah," someone exclaimed, still managing to catch him off guard despite hearing them. "I don't think I've ever seen you up before eleven Murphy. What's the deal?" Recognizing the voice as Monty, he smiled.  
"Monty, perfect timing!" He licked the batter off his fingers and turned to face the direction Monty's voice was coming from." Can you help me fry these pancakes up?"  
  
Monty seemed confused, as he replied, hesitantly, "You...want my help?" It took John a moment to realize that there was an undertone of flattery in his words too. Murphy never liked to ask for help, but when it came to using the stove, or the oven, it was nice to have someone watching to make sure he didn't burn everything or himself. He was sure that if he was given enough practice around the implement, then it wouldn't have been so bad, but Bellamy and Clarke had made sure he stayed far away from it.  
  
"Last time I did this, I nearly burnt down the kitchen, remember?"  
Monty chuckled, "Right." Murphy had already got the frying pan out. and he listened intently as Monty switched on the stove. As the pancakes cooked, the two of them made comfortable small talk But once their conversation had died down, Murphy focused on the smell and the sounds of the breakfast item. He had to admit, he enjoyed hearing the sound of the batter hissing as it hit the hot prying pan. It gave him the memories of when he was younger, when he still had sight, and he used to make breakfast with his father. They were probably some of the better memories he had from his earlier years. After his vision had gone, everything-not just learning to cope- seemed to become a problem.  
  
"Okay, they're done." Monty said."You want to try first?"  
  
"Go ahead." he suggested, offering the plate towards Monty. He heard Monty moan in result to taking a bite of the breakfast item. He grimaced at first, thinking that Monty was disgusted by the taste.  
"Is it that bad?"  
"No, it's really good!" He heard Monty push the plate back towards him. "Where did you learn to make these?"

* * *

  
With Harper, Bellamy and Clarke away at work, Monty, Raven and Murphy had decided to venture out to the supermarket for groceries. Echo had opted out to go the gym instead. Both, Raven and Monty had their own respective jobs, but often tended to coordinate their days off. He had to admit that at times, he was jealous of them and how capable they were at life; they really seemed to take it by the reins. He was kind of jealous of them, if had to be honest. They were able to take care of themselves more or less, and make their own income, whereas he relied off of disability income. There was the odd time where he wished he had a job, but not many people, if any people, seemed willing to hire the legally blind. Other days, he was glad he didn't have a job; it left him free to do what he wanted to during the day.  
  
Upon entering the supermarket he could tell that it was busy, but not overly crowded like it was on the weekend, but by noise alone, he could tell that there were many people in the building. The voices of many people created a voiceless hum, the sound of the carts wheels on the ground were loud and rickety, sounding like they needed to be repaired. 

Monty pushed the cart while Raven was responsible for tossing things in as Monty read off a list, once in awhile tossing in things that they thought of along the way. More often that not, Murphy felt like an obstacle while they tried to get the errand done. It wasn't like he could help with reading items off the list, or grab things off the shelf--they moved everything around much too often for him to memorize the placement of anything. So, normally, he lagged behind the two, knowing that he wouldn't really come in handy until they were loading everything up into the back of Raven's car.  
  
He purposefully began to lag behind more than usual, wanting to give the two of them space to finish their shopping without feeling like he was in the way. He could feel some strange looks thrown his way as he navigated his way through the aisles of the stores, heading back the way they had come so he could avoid running back into his roommates.   
  
He was nearly startled out of his skin when heard someone call his name.  
"John!" The hand on his shoulder felt large and familiar and he didn't know very many people with hands the size of baseball gloves.  
"Vinson?" he asked. "Yes, indeed." He patted Murphy on the shoulder in friendly greeting. "I thought I saw you a couple aisles over. Thought I'd come over and say hello."  
"What are you doing here?" Murphy asked.  
"I was given a job here by my probation officer," Vinson replied. "Not the most ideal place for me, but money is money. Thought I would give a message for you. From your lover. He wants you to stop by if you can."  
  
"Where at?" Murphy brought out his phone and offered it out to Vinson. "Type the address into the maps. I can follow the GPS voice instructions from there." It wasn't new or unusual for him to get lost or "misplaced" in a crowd. He learned that whenever that happened to not panic. With his cane, he wasn't completely unable to navigate,  
  
"Where did you go?" Raven demanded. He could hear her walking behind him, her gait too recognizable from the limp in her leg. "Monty was starting to freak out."  
"Were you," he asked. He turned to face Raven who stopped abruptly close to him, he could feel her breath on his face. "I didn't go anywhere. I was just in a different part of the market then you guys." Murphy smirked and turned back around and began walking again, tapping his cane from side to side to make his way through the market.  
  
"Yeah, but-"  
"FYI Raven, I'm not five. I don't need you and Monty to babysit me."

"I'm just trying to keep an eye our for you," she said. Murphy bit his tongue to hold in his reply to that comment; it seemed like everyone had an eye out for him, and to be honest, it bothered him. It made him paranoid to know that they were all keeping an eye out for him.   
"Do I sense a blind joke, Raven," he asked , tilting his head towards her. He tried to bounce it off as humor despite sensing some unsaid words on her part. Or perhaps he was just being paranoid because everyone seemed to already be looking out for him.  
"I'm serious," she said. She patted his cheek. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you. You're like a brother to me." She placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him down several aisles before coming back to reunite with Monty.  
  
"I didn't go anywhere," Murphy insisted. "You guys were just in a different part of the market."   
  
"Well how could you lose us so easy like that," Monty asked. "It's not like you stopped to examine the tomato plants or something." Murphy couldn't help but laugh at Monty's joke; he often didn't make jokes regarding his blindness. Normally, that was a job that would have been left to his friend Jasper.  
"See, I told you Raven, there was a blind joke coming up somewhere."

* * *

 He had just about fallen asleep when his phone alerted him to a new text message. It was quiet, but it was the only noise in the room, and it was the only text message he had received all day. He had sent one after running into Vinson at the supermarket.

To someone with sight, they probably assumed he couldn't use a smart phone, but iPhone had made it easy to use with voiceover. It might take a bit longer than someone who could see, but it got the job done, which was fine with him. He ran his index finger over the phone screen until voiceover read out "messages". He scrolled his finger over the names until voiceover read; "Paxton - 1new".

"Meet me at 6?" it read out. That simple message alone made him smile, easing his nerves. All of last night, he had been worrying about what would happen with him and Paxton, but he was glad to hear that he seemed interested in keeping their relationship together.  
  
Tomorrow, he'd stop by to see Paxton and they could smooth over the bumps in their relationship; everything would be fine.  
  
And maybe, if they'd allow it, he'd try and smooth the bumps in his current relationship with Bellamy and Clarke. Whenever he thought about their breakup, he felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest; he hadn't wanted to break up with them, but he hadn't appreciated how they treated him. Perhaps it was his poor lack of communication-words had never been his strong point. And talking about his feelings was much more difficult compared to talking about practically any other topic. And perhaps it was childish of him to end things so suddenly like that and not even give them a straight answer, but he just wanted distance. Now though, after being separated for nearly seven months, he was beginning to miss them.   
  
And he knew that this was more than selfish, but he wondered if it was wrong to consider the possibility of being in a relationship with three other people, two of which who seemed to hate the third.  
  
It seemed like things were going to get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a big thank you to those that have left comments and or kudos. You have all encouraged me to keep writing this even though I was actually considering taking it down. I hope that this chapter and future chapters continue to keep you all interested! And again, thank you!


	5. Like Fucking a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy is brooding, McCreary tells Murphy about his plans about meeting with his ex and his daughter. Murphy and McCreary go out for dinner where Murphy gets drunk and ends up in bed with Bellamy but nothing sexual happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Sorry if there are any big typos or other errors. It was getting late while I was doing this.

Bellamy had been brooding. All throughout his shift at work he'd been deep in thought, somehow managing to multitask as he dealt with everyday problems that civilians encountered and came complaining to him about. Even though he was still managing to get work done, his coworkers seemed to notice the storm cloud over his head as he continued to get lost in his mind.  
"What's got you down," Miller asked as they sat down for their lunch break. "Gina says you look super serious today, more so than usual. Got a lot going on or what?"  
  
"You could say that," he muttered, resting his chin in his hand. He fiddled with the pencil he had in hand, tapping it aimlessly against the table. "I shouldn't bother you with it though."  
"No way man," Miller exclaimed. He took a swig from the water bottle on his desk. "I tell you practically everything but you never really talk about yourself. Bottling your emotions is not good."  
  
"Ah, the complicated polyamorous relationship," Miller said, sounding as if he were all knowing. "You and Clarke are still a thing right? But Murphy left the picture?" Bellamy nodded. "Did he ever say why?" Bellamy shook his head; he had come to know fairly quickly that communication was not Murphy's strong point. There had been times where things were misinterpreted, and from what he remembered about their breakup, it had been sloppy and fast. One big misunderstanding.  
  
"Maybe that's what's bothering you," Miler suggested. "You think maybe it'd be easier to get over if he gave you two a reason why." Bellamy sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands.  
"Yeah and Murphy's got this new guy...Paxton McCreary-"  
  
Miller leaned forward in his seat, clearly intrigued, "Wasn't that the guy you were background checking not long ago?"  
"Yeah, but it was Clarke that asked me to do it." He sighed. "I don't want to stir up any more trouble for him."  
  
When Bellamy came home that evening, the house was lively as warm lights drifted into the hall from the living room and kitchen. He poked his head around the corner, surprised to see that only Harper and Raven were in the room, both of them focused on doing their nails.  
  
"Hey, Bell," Raven chirped, her eyes doing little more than glancing up at him.  
"Hey, have you guys seen Murphy?" He was hoping that he'd have a chance to talk to Murphy. Although he hadn't made it known to Clarke or to Murphy, it really bothered Bellamy that there was this loose thread between the three of them and what had been their relationship. He was just hoping to tie things off, however possible, as soon as possible. By doing that, he was hoping that he could make things better between the three of them.  
  
The two of them shook their head in unison, their attention becoming refocused on their nails.  
"Uh, not lately. He left about an hour before you came home. He didn't say where he was going so I assume he just went for a walk." Harper said.  
"He seemed in a good mood though," Raven stated. She smiled slightly. "That's kind of a rare thing to see. It's nice though."

* * *

The directions on his phone led him to, of all places, a bowling alley. He'd wasn't familiar with the name of the place, since he'd never been to that part of town, but based off of the streets he had to take, it was close to where the diner was.

When he entered the building, it was cool, a little too cool for Thanksgiving being right around the corner. On his left he could hear the roll of the bowling balls on the floor and the pins as they tumbled over when hit. It was sort of rhythmic he thought, it was nice to listen to. The air smelt of feet and the sterile spray they used to sanitize the shoes. Underneath that, he could smell food, a mix of popcorn and pretzels. It was actually kind of nauseating; he hoped he wouldn't have to be here too long.

"John," McCreary said, his footsteps getting louder as he came closer."I'm glad you showed up." He hugged Murphy before leading him over to a counter. 

"You like bowling?" he asked.  
"Don't know," Murphy replied, "Never had much of a chance to play it enough to see if I like it." He heard McCreary hum, deep in thought for a moment, before intertwining their fingers together, bringing their hands to his lips so he could kiss Murphy's knuckles.  
  
"That's a shame. But you can see lights and shape, right? Maybe I can find a way for you to play, it'd be fun." The offer was nice enough, no one had suggested in making a game like bowling accessible for those who were visually impaired. Most of the time, when it came to events outside the house, everyone avoided going to places where sighted persons took advantage. And, not surprisingly, that limited a lot of fun activities.  
  
"So why work here?" he asked. McCreary chuckled.  
"Wasn't my decision. The man who runs the halfway house, Marcus, helped me get it. I can't afford to be too picky-- one condition of my parole was that I get a job as soon as possible." He sighed. "So right now, minimum wage is going to have to cut it. Maybe until I can find a place wanting to take in a mechanic or a carpenter." At the mention of a mechanic, Murphy's thought wandered to Raven---if she was willing to pull strings, Paxton might be able to work at Raven's workshop. He'd have to ask Raven about any of the job openings.  
  
"You know, since I've been reinstated as a free man--or soon to be free when my parole finishes in a few months- I thought I might reach out to Charmaine. I'd really like to meet my daughter. He grasped Murphy's hand, rubbing his thumb over John's knuckles. "I'm nervous though. And you don't have to if you don't want to but will you come meet them with me?"  
  
"Why wait until your parole ends?" Murph asked. Underneath the nervousness in his voice, he could sense Paxton's excitement that his ex might allow him to see and finally meet his daughter in person. McCreary chuckled humorlessly. He sighed, sounded tired. "Charmaine can be a bit intimidating. I'm thinking she won't let me near my daughter initially. But she might allow it happen a bit faster if you were around."  
  
"Why me?" he asked, surprised. What kind of impact would he have on this Charmaine? Would she take pity on Paxton that he was dating a blind guy? Murphy threw the thought from his head as soon as it appeared; he didn't think that Paxton would use him like that.  
  
"I think you're good for me John, and you're probably good for a lot of people too." His hand caressed John's cheek, his rough hands gentle against his skin. "But I feel like I could be bad for you. That whole thing that happened at dinner-"  
  
"I should have told you about Clarke and Bellamy," Murphy blurted, cutting Paxton off. "The three of us used to date. I didn't tell you because I never thought that Clarke would try to chase you out like that."  
"Two at once, huh? Never pegged you for that kind of guy." Murphy frowned, unsure of what to think of that statement. He opened his mouth to say more, to explain himself, only to have Paxton cut him off with laughter. "It's fine John, I can understand why they'd want me out of the picture. I'd think I'd feel the same if you decided to leave me for someone else."  
  
He thought that maybe he should try and tell Paxton about his reigniting feelings for Clarke and Bellamy, but didn't want to give any reason for an upset. He also had the briefest of thoughts that he was having thoughts about the four of them, together, but these were his own selfish and impure thoughts and he'd leave it for now. What they were doing right now, making sure everything between them was water under the bridge was working well so far. He didn't need to go and cut open a new wound.  
  
"Come have dinner with me," Paxton asked. "I'm off in twenty if you want to hang around."  
  
Paxton walked them over to a nearby restaurant named The City of Light, which was a bit pricey for him, but Paxton had said that the food was delicious. When they arrived, the place was busy and full of noise; the clinking of glasses, the screeching of cutlery on plates, and all the conversations overlapping. Murphy was glad that he had Paxton with him, who kept a hand on the small of his back  Even though Paxton couldn't drink alcohol if he wanted to keep the conditions of his parole, but John ordered some wine, or rather, Paxton ordered some wine for John, so Murphy more or less ended up drinking enough for the both of them.

There meal had been far by one of the best dates in Murphy's life. Despite the noise of everyone around them, it felt as though it was just the two of them. He was able to focus on Paxton and only Paxton and his distinct voice. After they had left, Murphy knew he had drank too much because he was getting too handsy. His hands seemed to literally have a mind of their own, although his brain tried to restrain him from being so touchy.

"John, no." Paxton sighed, pulling Murphy's hands off him for the tenth time. "You're drunk and I'm not going to take advantage of that." He felt Paxton's rough hands on his face, his thumbs tracing the outline of his lips, followed by a brief peck on his lips. "Believe me when I say that I want to be with you intimately, but I want you to remember the night we share together." He kissed John gently on the lips, his hand wrapping around to cup the back of his head, pulling him to deepen the kiss. He could feel John kissing him back affectionately, his hands coming down to undo the belt on McCreary's pants.  As suddenly as he had initiated the kiss, he pulled away, pushing away the unbearable building heat that was setting flame to his insides.  
"I'll drive you home."

* * *

Bellamy had been half asleep on the couch with the television playing reruns of Survivor when he heard the door close. He didn't get up immediately from the bed, but listened as whoever stumbled about, before he heard their footsteps fade as they went upstairs. At first, he thought it might have been Clarke home from a long shift at the hospital. Normally, when she came home very late, especially from a double shift, she acted as though she were drunk. However, when he headed towards his room, he paused at the door, surprised to see Murphy sitting on his bed instead. He seemed unaware at the moment of Bellamy's presence as he started to undress.  
  
"Murphy, are you drunk?" He seemed a little startled but didn't seem to mind much.  
"No," he blurted. After a moment he nodded. "Yeah. A little."  
  
"You know this isn't your room, right?"

Murphy shrugged, his hands running over the covers. "The blankets feel the same. So does the carpet." He didn't make any move to head back to his room, so Bellamy thought to just leave him. He wasn't causing any harm and Bellamy didn't mind sleeping on the sofa.  
  
"I miss you and Clarke," Murphy blurted, his words slurring into one another. Bellamy partially hoped that this was true, because he missed them too, even though he was technically still together with Clarke. Although he had told himself that he would get over Murphy, just like he had gotten over past romances like Gina and Roma, the love he felt for Murphy hadn't faded. And the hurt in his heart when he had left hadn't healed either. And although he hated to take advantage of the drunk and impaired, he'd probably never get a better chance to have Murphy explain why he left and how he felt.  
  
"We miss you too," Bellamy said. He sat down next to Murphy, their legs almost touching. "Why not come back to us?"  
  
"I didn't like how you guys treated me."  
  
"Tell me more, Murphy. Help me understand why you left." Before he could continue and finish what he was saying, Murphy bolted to his feet, rushing to the master bathroom. He groaned. "Now I remember why I don't drink." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and reached for the sink faucet to rinse the vomit down the drain. Bellamy went over to help him to his feet. He assisted him back to the bed, Murphy's shoulder clumsily bushing past the door frame and back into the bedroom.  
  
"You should get some sleep," Bellamy suggested, pushing Murphy slightly back towards the bed. Murphy flopped down on the bed, positioning himself on one side, his legs curled close to his chest. For a moment, Bellamy watched as his former lover lay on the bed they used to share, his chest rising and falling evenly as he breathed. Knowing that he'd probably regret it later on at some point, Bellamy slowly lowered himself onto the bed next to Murphy, one arm instinctively wrapping around the slighter man. "  
  
Tell me why," Bellamy murmured, his lips brushing against Murphy's ear. "Why'd you leave?" For a moment, he thought that Murphy had fallen asleep by how quiet he was, but could see his blind gaze staring off into the distance, as though remembering a certain event. Several more moments went by before Murphy sighed, chuckling lightly.  
  
"I'm blind Bellamy, I'm not a little kid." he muttered. He rolled inwards towards Bellamy so that they were resting back to stomach. "You and Clarke have a tendency to mother hen people. How would you feel at age twenty two if you felt less independent than when you left home at eighteen?"  
  
Bellamy's thoughts travelled back to when Octavia had stormed out of the house they used to share, claiming he was keeping her from a life of her own, that he was keeping her from her life with Lincoln. O had always been so keen to be independent-their mother had raised them to be that way, and Octavia certainly hadn't disappointed. He could only imagine how Murphy felt if everyone was doing things for him--babying- as the others would have put it, preventing him from living the life he wanted to live.  
  
"I didn't like sex with you guys," Murphy continued, drawing Bellamy away from his inner thoughts, "...it's hard to explain, but I didn't feel...included." Bellamy traced circles on Murphy's stomach, one leg wrapping over his.  
"Tell me."  
  
"I felt like I was missing out on something. In the dark, I can't see anything; at least in the daylight I can tell where people and objects are but in the dark, it's not the same. To me, feeling your faces--I wanted to know what your expressions were like, to know if you actually liked what I was giving or taking. Sound and our bodies touching didn't feel like enough." He laughed slightly, the corner of his lips turning up into a small smile. "It sort of felt like fucking a ghost sometimes."

Bellamy smiled sadly. He hadn't heard Murphy's laughter in such a long time, it was such a pleasant sound, but under the circumstances, it made him sad. To know that he and Clarke had failed at making him feel satisfied during their sexual encounters stung deeply. More so than he ever thought it could.

He kissed Murphy's head gently, breathing in the fresh scent of his shampoo. He whispered, "I'm sorry."

Murphy rolled over so that they were facing one another, one hand coming up to Bellamy's face. His hand traced over his eyes and lips before he moved to brush back Bellamy's hair.  
"Don't be sad." he whispered, his alcohol soaked breath tickling Bellamy's face. He snuggled up closer to Bellamy, pressing his head against his chest. "Don't be sad, Bellamy. You couldn't have known."

He wished he had known, but it hurt to know.

The two of them stayed that way for the rest of the night, laying in silence as they listened to each others breathing. At some point, they both fell asleep. When Bellamy woke up, the spot where Murphy had been was empty, the covers were still warm though. Bellamy sighed, saddened, running his hand over the imprint left behind by his former lover. His mind replayed the events of last night, a small smile crawling onto his face. Bittersweet.

He wondered if there was the possibility that Murphy could be with him again, and if he'd be given the change to satisfy him this time round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is welcomed and encouraging; if you have something nice to say or any constructive criticism, please leave it!


	6. To Lay with the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy goes to Monty and Harper to ask for advice about how to talk to Bellamy and Clarke. Paxton is able to arrange a date to meet up with his ex, Charmaine in hopes to meet his daughter, and he wants to bring Murphy along. And, things between Murphy, Bellamy and McCreary get a bit....steamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that this chapter does have sexual content. Nothing overly graphic or disturbing, so I hope no one will find it offensive or disturbing to their peace of mind.

 

 

He'd made a big mistake getting drunk like that last night, although he wanted to place partial blame on Paxton for persuading him to get wine in the first place. It was even worse when he had realized that it had been Bellamy curled up next to him in bed when he woke up that morning. He had nearly jumped out of his skin. He tried for the life of him to remember what he had said to Bellamy and what they had done. Although, when he realized that he still had his clothes on except for his shirt, he assumed nothing too physical had occurred.

Like a coward, he'd disappeared elsewhere into the house before Bellamy woke up, hiding away. For awhile he had sat in his room, wondering if should go and apologize to Bellamy for being a drunken fool but decided against it. He knew Bellamy, and he knew Bellamy wouldn't think of him as a drunken fool, even though Murphy was sure he had been; too much alcohol had never been too kind to him.

So instead of seeking out Bellamy, he had ended up outside Monty and Harper's room. Monty always gave good advice. So did Harper. And it didn't matter what the advice was for, it was always good in the end. And right now, he felt in need of some good advice on to proceed with his issues with Clarke and Bellamy.

He reached out and felt for the flat of the door and knocked lightly.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I," he asked, lingering outside the door as it opened. By the sound of  fabric rustling, he assumed he had interrupted something, or he had woken them up, or both.  
"Not really." Monty replied, sounding groggy. "Did you need something?" 

"This might sound strange, but I need some advice."

Monty ushered him into the room, pulling him in by the elbow.  
"What kind of advice are we talking about, Murphy," Monty asked. By the tone of voice, Murphy assumed that Monty knew what he was going to say.  
"Relationship advice." He quickly went on to explain his whole ordeal with Paxton, along with the feelings he was still harboring for Bellamy and Clarke to give them the gist of what was going on.

"So you still like Bellamy and Clarke, but you're in a relationship with Paxton," Harper recited. "Is that right?" Murphy nodded in affirmation. He heard the bedsprings squeak in protest as she hopped off the bed.   
"Doesn't his situation remind you of that fling we had with Raven," she asked, her question directed towards Monty. Murphy raised his brows in surprise.

"Wait, you guys had a thing with Raven?" he asked.

"See," Harper exclaimed, 'I told you he knew nothing about us! We should have bet on it, Monty." He heard Monty chuckle and the bed springs squeak as he got back up from the bed.  
"It was nothing serious," Harper explained, "Since she's with Shaw and all, but it was on the fourth of July last year and we were drunk-"  
"Where was I during all of this," Murphy asked. He was surprised that this fling Monty and Harper had had with Raven went under his radar. Normally, he was well aware of the events that happened within the house.

"Drunk and in bed with Clarke and Bell-" she cut herself short. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

"I'd just ask them, Murphy," Monty said. "Just tell them you want to talk and keep it civil. Just talking can solve a lot of problems if people are willing to listen."

* * *

Later on in the afternoon, he met up with Paxton, outside his work. He hung around for about an hour before Paxton got off duty. They had planned on heading towards the diner for dinner later, so they decided to walk on over since it wasn't entirely too far from the bowling alley.

"I have a proposition for you, " Paxton said as they strolled down the sidewalk. "Will you come and meet my daughter with me?"  
"I thought you were waiting until you finished parole."  
Paxton laughed nervously. "Yes, well. I realized that I'm going to be on parole for quite some time, and to be honest, the anxiety of getting to see her--my daughter--is nearly eating me alive."

"She's a hard woman to get in touch with, but Marcus was able to pull some strings and set me up to meet with her. She was reluctant to agree about bringing Hope, but Marcus must know how to persuade because she said yes."

Murphy could sense the excitement in his voice, but could also feel an underlying sense of worry. He didn't want to leave Paxton alone to deal with the pressure himself, so he agreed to go.   
"Awesome!" He hugged Murphy tightly, clearly relieved. As he pulled away, one hand traveled down his arm to interlock their fingers together. He started to lead Murphy down the sidewalk, towards the diner.

"Paxton..." Murphy sighed heavily, unsure whether or not to proceed. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart.  
"I want to discuss us, and my relationship with Clarke and Bellamy. I want to know where I stand with them. I think I've...started having feelings for them again." There was a few moments of silence between them as he could feel Paxton processing what he had said.

"You want to have a foursome?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.  
Murphy bit his tongue, caught off guard. He felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Despite not being able to see Paxton's expression, he turned his face away, suddenly feeling ashamed for causing McCreary to jump to such a conclusion. However, he wouldn't reject taking part in such an activity--if it helped him resolve his issues with Clarke and Bellamy so he could move on and be solely with Paxton, then he would do it.

Paxton chuckled, a hand coming to rest on Murphy's cheek, his thumb stroking his cheek softly.  
"You know, I've never had one," Paxton whispered, his breath tickling Murphy's ear. "If you want too, and Clarke and Bellamy are okay with it, why not?"

* * *

Bellamy wasn't sure if he should be surprised about McCreary being present while Murphy had insisted he talk to him and Clarke. He could tell that Clarke was more than just uncomfortable, she seemed hostile. Bellamy could practically see the angry energy vibrating off of her.

"Why is McCreepy here?" she demanded.  
Murphy bit back a groan, rubbing a hand over his face to maintain a calm composure. "Clarke, he has a name..." he exhaled heavily, before glancing in their direction, his gaze meeting just short of their faces, but not far from the mark. "Look, I wanted to talk about us."

 "About us?" Clarke repeated, her voice questioning. "What about us Murphy? "Us" is over, isn't it? You made it that way."

"Just hear him out," Bellamy muttered.  
He heard Clarke scoffed at his suggestion and turned her attention back to Murphy. Bellamy couldn't help but notice at how her eyes threw daggers at McCreary, who was standing behind Murphy, trying to remain neutral in this conversation. Or trying to become invisible, he wasn't too sure.

"It was stupid of me to just leave you guys like that. I should have given an explanation...but I left because of my own insecurities mainly, not strictly because of you guys. I wasn't happy...."

"You should have said all that when you were first feeling that way." Clarke stated. She folded her arms and shifted on to her hip; Bellamy   
"I know and I'm sorry...."

"Sorry isn't enough for me Murphy," Clarke said, her voice filled with venom. Bellamy pursed his lips, holding in the words he wanted to say to her. Before Murphy could say anything else, Clarke pushed past them and left, disappearing into the house, leaving them all out in the crisp, autumn air. Bellamy watched, dismayed, as Clarke walked away. He had had his fingers crossed that Clarke would come around and admit to the fact that she missed Murphy just as much as he did. But he had known Clarke since they were young children, and he had learned that she was as stubborn as a mule, if not more.

 "Well, that went well," Murphy muttered. He glanced towards Bellamy, that smug little smirk crawling onto his face. "Thanks for listening though, Bell. I appreciate it."

He turned to leave, Paxton turning to leave with him.  
"Murphy," Bellamy said, grabbing onto his elbow and turning him back towards him, "do you remember what you told me last night?" There was a pause momentarily as Murphy's face contorted into a confused expression before clearing into realization.

"Not really," Murphy admitted. He glanced in the direction of Paxton. "I was kind of drunk."  
"About not satisfying you and how it felt like you were fucking a ghost," Bellamy said, hoping to ring a bell. "Give me one more chance, I want to make you happy Murphy."  
"Really?"

* * *

Clothes came off relatively quickly, and Murphy was unsure about who he was kissing as he was rotated back and forth between them. The three of them collapsed onto the bed and he felt hands in his hair as he was pulled into a deep kiss, while on the other side he could feel hands travelling south to cup his genitals, the other set of lips kissing his neck and shoulder.

He was kissing Bellamy, and Paxton was behind him, leaving a trail of kisses along his shoulder blades and back.  
They moved and shifted around on the bed until Murphy could feel Paxton behind him, also on his knees, while he could sense Bellamy in front of him, on the floor, on his knees.

"Is this okay," Paxton asked, his voice husky. Murphy could feel his erection against his backside, while his chin rested on Murphy's shoulder. He reached up and placed his hand on Paxton's face.  
"It's okay."

He felt Bellamy grab his free wrist, and gasped lightly as he encircled several of Murphy's fingers with his mouth. His fingers still wet with salvia, he pressed his hand against Bellamy's face, his fingers tracing over his lips which were smiling. He tangled his hand in Bellamy's hair and pulled him closer to his throbbing member. Paxton entered him the same time Bellamy placed his mouth over his erection, and the sensations that followed were nearly overstimulating for Murphy.

 And in his eighteen years of blindness, he was reminded of what people looked like. He could see them, imagine what they looked like pressed up against one another. The sounds, the touch, the inner feeling of intense pleasure was so strong. So much stronger than he could ever remember with Clarke and Bellamy.

 He could feel Paxton's hot breath against him as their bodies moved together in rhythm as he thrust in and out of Murphy, and he could feel both his hands on his hips, while Bellamy's hands rested on his thighs. Paxton made soft grunting sounds while Bellamy made quiet moaning sounds, with the occasional wet mouth sound as his tongue traced circles around his member.

 The images his mind created from everything that was going around him, from everything that was happening to him, were so vivid and bright, he felt as though his eyes were seeing again, as though he was looking a photo, or having an out of body experience, he couldn't really be sure. And he wasn't sure if it was because he was having an orgasm, or if it was the intense happiness he felt at his mind tricking him into seeing, but he literally felt as though he was floating.

He felt the bed sink in as Bellamy climbed back onto the bed. His lips worked his way along Murphy's collarbone, up his neck and to his lips, still tasting of cum. He rolled over onto his back, his side pressed up against him, Paxton pressed up against his other side. The warmth of their bodies was welcoming, as though he were snuggling up in front of a lit fireplace with a blanket on his shoulders.

"Thank you, Bellamy," he said, breathless. "Thank you Paxton. I haven't felt something so good in awhile."

* * *

Bellamy watched  as Paxton ran a finger down the bridge of Murphy's nose, a sweet smile on his face. He had to admit that they looked happy together, or it could have been the afterglow of sex. But he hated the little twinge of envy he felt deep in his gut; he wished that he could be in Paxton's position. But he could feel Murphy playing with his fingers and tracing shapes on his palms, so he didn't feel entirely disconnected.

Murphy was the first to fall asleep, in the middle between Bellamy and Paxton, who were left in an awkward silence. The only sounds inside the room were Murphy's steady breathing as he fell into a deeper sleep and the creaking of the house from time to time as it settled.

"Thank you," McCreary muttered after some time. "For making him happy. He didn't let on too much about it but I knew he was missing you and Clarke."  
"Don't you make him happy?" Bellamy asked, confused. He was sure that what they had just done, was a one time thing; from his reaction, he had made Murphy happy during sex, even though he hadn't been the one penetrating him. And he had Paxton now, so was there any real reason for him to stay?

McCreary smirked. "I suppose so, but you had him before me. He's still clinging to a piece of you. I'm not going to rip it away from him."  
There was a slight rustle of fabric as Paxton slipped over Murphy so that he was resting above Bellamy on his hands and knees. In the near pitch black room, he could see Paxton smiling.

"And you know, if you ever want to..." his sentenced trailed off and Bellamy jumped as he felt a hand on his inner thigh, crawling up to cradle one of his testicles. "I'm sure John would be up for it again for the three of us to share a bed. Maybe next time we can get a bit...closer."  
Bellamy could feel himself blushing as heat rushed up his neck and into his cheeks, suddenly thankful that it was near pitch black in the room.

Perhaps whatever had happened her between them wasn't a one time thing. After all, Murphy had dated himself and Clarke at the same time, so he couldn't see a problem if he went back to having to lovers--this time, Paxton instead of Clarke.

The only thing that worried him is how Clarke would react if she found out that he had chosen to sleep with "the enemy" as she had titled McCreary. Because the way Clarke would see things, she would more than likely accuse Bellamy of cheating.

And he wasn't quite sure if he could let her go or not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> And I hope there aren't too many errors or typos, but I needed to go to bed.


	7. Why do You Have to Make Things so Complicated?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paxton finally gets to meet his daughter face to face. Thanksgiving arrives and Clarke confronts McCreary, although is their conversation really a confrontation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hope you enjoy this!
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for being absent all of September. I'm back in university part time, and working on top of that, so I haven't got much spare time.

Paxton felt his heart beating erratically inside his chest. The entire car ride, he had been wiping a clammy sweat from his hands onto his pant legs, but his grip continued to slip as though the steering wheel was greased up. The entire ride to the park, he had been silent as he tried to calm his palpitating heart and focus on keeping the vehicle on the road.

“So, when was the last time you saw Charmaine,” John asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Well, I haven’t seen her since she was pregnant…so, uh, six years.”  
”Well, a lot can happen in six years…Do you think she’s still pissed at you being in prison?” Paxton sighed and ran a hand over his face, frustrated. They hadn’t talked much about past lovers in their time together. He was aware that John had been with some chick named Emori and with Bellamy and Clarke, and John knew about Charmaine. But there had been a silent agreement between the two of them to not discuss past events, however that deal proved hard to keep since both of them were troubled by past lovers.  
  
”Charmaine’s always pissed about something,” he chuckled humourlessly.  
“Paxton, it’ll be fine,” John said, trying to sound reassuring. He offered out a hand, which Paxton gripped tightly. If Paxton could feel the anxiety and tension inside of him, he assumed John was picking up on it by the tense feeling inside the cab of the truck.

 When they arrived at the park, the two of them sat in the truck for a good ten minutes before Paxton found the will to move. His nerves by this point were very frazzled and he wasn't sure if he was hyperventilating or not yet.  
"Well," John sighed, sounding impatient. He opened up the passenger door. "I don't know about you, but I think we're going to be late for meeting Charmaine and your daughter." Defeated, Paxton sighed, collected his nerves and shoved them into a metaphorical jar and got out of the truck.

John felt his way around the front of the truck and onto the side walk, his cane guiding him along. Paxton grabbed his free hand, pulling him close to his side for comfort. He hid his other hand in his coat pocket to hide the slight, but still visible tremor.  
Charmaine was seated at one of the picnic tables that were littered all over the park. Her attention was focused on the little hurricane of a child that was swinging around on the monkey bars on the nearby playground. Upon seeing them, she got to her feet to greet them.

“Who’s this,” she asked, jerking her head towards John.  
Paxton cleared his throat. ”This is John, my boyfriend.”  
“Pleasure to meet you,” John said, holding a hand out in greeting. Not one to be rude, Charmaine shook his hand, returning the pleasantries. She turned her attention back over to the young girl that was still swinging around on the monkey bars, her legs kicking as she tried to propel herself to the next bar.  
  
"Hope, come here please," Charmaine called out, loud and clear. She waved the young girl over, who ran over like her life depended on it. When she saw Paxton and John standing by the picnic table, she shied away from them, latching onto one of her mother’s arms. ”Hope, don’t be shy.” She turned towards the little girl. “Do you remember the other night when I told you that mommy found out where daddy went?” Hope nodded in affirmation silently.

“This is daddy,” she said, pointing towards Paxton. She then pointed at John. “And this is daddy’s partner.” Hope smiled at them shyly and waved, still welded to Charmaine's side.

The four of them spent the majority of the afternoon in the park, walking the perimeter and watching Hope gallivant around them, kicking up the leaves that had fallen from the trees. Well, Charmaine and Paxton watched Hope play, while all John could do was listen. Hope’s attention seemed to gravitate more so towards John, and Paxton assumed it was because of his blindness. Paxton didn't mind, but he wasn't sure if John was bothered or not.

“Have you always been blind,” Hope asked, breaking a peaceful silence between the four of them.  
”Hope, don’t be so rude,” Charmaine scolded She glanced towards John, a brief expression of sympathy crossing her face despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to see her expression. Paxton frowned; he didn't like it when people took pity upon John.  
”Not always,” John replied. “I got really sick when I was younger. It got so bad it took away my sight.”  
  
Hope hummed in thought. "But you're better now?" she asked. "It didn't take anything else?"  
John smiled slightly. "Yeah, I've been better for a long time. And it was just my sight it took."

 Eventually, Hope seemed to become bored by their aimless wandering about the park. She turned to Paxton and John and grabbed them both the hem of their shirts.  
"Come play with me," she exclaimed happily, pulling them towards the swing set. Paxton allowed himself to be led to the swings. John collapsed his cane and allowed Hope to lead him over to the swing set. 

"Can you push me?" she asked. Paxton went to stand behind the swing and grabbed the chains. He hadn't been on a playground since his middle school years, but he remembered that the swings were always one of the best parts of any playground. He tried to push Hope as high as the swing would allow, and Paxton couldn't help but smile at hearing her giggles and shrieks of delight. In his peripheral, seated on the adjacent swing, he noticed that John was smiling too.

Paxton was glad to see that Hope seemed to enjoy John’s company, as well as his own, since he certainly enjoyed both of them and their company. And knowing that that little girl was his flesh and blood and that she was enjoying her time with him had glued a large smile onto his face. The last time he smiled like that was when he and John had started getting closer to one another.  
  
When the sun began to hit the horizon, Charmaine decided it was time to leave and return home to make dinner. The hours had literally flown by and Paxton had failed to realize how cold it had gotten now that the sun was going to bed; he wished that he had brought a warmer coat with him. Damn, winter was getting impatient on arriving.

“She seems like a great kid, Char,” he said.  
“She is. It’s weird that she seems to like you,” Charmaine replied. She crossed her arms over her chest. “But she’s young. And I suppose I haven’t said much about you so she’s not aware of how her father is a criminal.” Paxton exhaled heavily. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d not mention it to her.” He glanced up at her. “I’m trying to change for the better, Char.”  
Charmaine turned to face him, their faces close to one another. Her expression darkened, becoming very serious. "And you better continue to improve. This is the only chance that I'm giving you to be with her. Screw it up and her and I disappear from your life. Again."  
  
The serious expression vanished as she turned her attention back towards Hope, who had become fascinated at how John's cane could collapse and fold.  
"Say goodbye sweetheart. We have to go home now." Hope pouted but turned to say her goodbyes.  
“Bye John,” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his waist. She then turned to Paxton, her arms outstretched. “Bye, daddy!” At that word, of being called "daddy" for the first time, Paxton felt his heart swell with joy, almost bursting out of his chest. His body felt as though it was floating, headed towards Cloud Nine.  
  
As the two of them left, hand in hand, Paxton watched until they had disappeared down the street in their car. He already missed the little squirt.  
"So, who does she look like more?" John asked. "I'm thinking more like Charmaine. Am I right?"  
Paxton chuckled. "Yeah, you are right. Lucky guess."

* * *

Thanksgiving was finally rounding the corner and fall had made it’s presence known. The steady change of color in the leaves had accelerated the last few days, and now instead of falling off one by one, groups of them fell off together with every breath of the wind.              
  
For the past few days, the household had been prepping for their Thanksgiving meal. It was, by far, their largest get together they had had in years. Clarke's mother was coming, as was Raven's surrogate father Jacapo Sinclair. Bellamy's mother had opted out and promised to visit at Christmas instead; he knew that she was more than likely at Octavia's place for this holiday. And Echo had invited her cousin Roan. And on top of that, Murphy had invited Charmaine and Hope last minute since they had nowhere to go for the holiday.              
  
To accommodate their large crowd, they had dragged the kitchen table in to extend the surface area on which they had to place things, but due to lack of room, had decided to leave some of the dishes on the island for people to grab seconds if needed.  
  
It was a nice hearty meal, and Clarke wished that she could have fully enjoyed it. The entire time, her thoughts continued to veer towards Paxton McCreepy—McCreary. She had thought back to their previous dinner and the words they had exchanged, and she had to admit to herself that she regretted her actions. At the time, she had just wanted the man away from Murphy, but it seemed like Murphy had disconnected with her more since then.

And since that day, she had never been really sure as to why she started harbouring hatred towards Paxton. He was an ex-convict, but that shouldn't matter, but she had made it an issue and had all but shoved Paxton out the door. And several days ago, when Murphy had insisted on talking to her, she had blatantly blown him off, because Paxton had been there, lurking in the shadows. Something about him had just rubbed her the wrong way. And the more she thought about, Clarke managed to narrow down the reason down as to why she hated Paxton McCreary so much; he reminded her of Lexa.

Of course there was a large difference between the two of them, but both Lexa and Paxton had this powerful aura that radiated off them. Clarke found it enticing, but also felt offensive towards it too, as though she had to be on guard to protect herself from something.  
  
So when the meal had finished and the majority of people had moved onto after dinner conversation or had taken to some fresh air outside, Clarke decided to make her move. All she wanted to do was talk to McCreary, explain why she was acting the way she was, and hope that they could allow bygones to be bygones. She found an opportunity to steal him away from John when Hope had dragged him outside to play in the absurd amount of leaves that had collected in their backyard that no one had bothered to rake up yet.

“Can I talk to you,” Clarke asked, tapping him on the shoulder. Paxton’s eyebrows rose in surprise; he glanced out into the backyard, where Charmaine was watching over her daughter and Murphy frolic about in the leaves. After a moment, he nodded, turning to follow her down the hall and upstairs.  
“So, what did you want to talk about that requires privacy from prying ears?”   
”I wanted to apologize for everything,” she said. “I was in the wrong to treat you like I have.”

Paxton smirked, one eyebrow cocking up in interest. He folded his arms over his chest, amused at what Clarke had to say.   
”Really,” he said, drawing the word out, “It sure doesn’t seem like you’re sorry about what you said. You ignored John when he tried to explain his wrongdoings, and you’ve barely said two words to me before now, so why should I accept an apology when it seems insincere?”

Clarke placed her hands on his chest, intrigued at the fine muscle beneath the shirt he wore.  
"What are you doing," Paxton exclaimed, pulling away in surprise.

“You remind me of...someone I used to be with."

"You rejected John when he tried to talk to you," Paxton exclaimed, "It was your goal to throw me out of your house when I came over for dinner with John for the first time." He took a step forward so that he could smell the sweet vanilla that wafted off her skin. "And now you’re trying to jump my bones because I remind you of someone you used to be with?”   
  
Clarke pursed her lips. ”Don’t make me say it,” she muttered. McCreary smiled; clearly amused that he was making her uncomfortable.   
“Say what?” he asked, faking obliviousness. Clarke clenched and unclenched her teeth, exhaling heavily through her nostrils in frustration and irritation.   
“You remind me of a past lover, and I find it attractive. Is that what you want to hear?”

Before he could respond to her words, she kissed him, suddenly and forcefully. She pressed herself against him and grabbed the back of his head to deepen the kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist, sliding up her back. Before things could get carried away, Clarke pulled away.

"What the hell," Paxton exclaimed, breathless from their kiss. "You're one fucking complicated chick."

* * *

He turned away from the interaction he had witnessed around the corner and headed as quietly as he could back down the stairs. He shook his head, partially amused, partially pissed off; he’d been worried that he’d be the one accused of cheating. But now, after seeing Clarke coming onto McCreary like that, Bellamy felt much less guilty about his threesome with Murphy and McCreary.  
  
Now he had something to hold over her head if she started to harass him about their relationship. But Bellamy was not fond of confrontation, and fighting with Clarke was like putting bamboo splinters under his nails; it hurt like a bitch. At the same time, he didn’t want to keep this from Murphy, since he deserved to know what he had seen.  
”Damn it, Clarke, “he muttered. “Why do you have to make things so complicated?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Sorry if there were too many errors and/or typos.
> 
> Just a side note: Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated and welcome. However, if your comment is irrelevant to the story or the writing of the story, it will be deleted. I have had to do this twice already, both which were rather rude.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated and welcomed, however if you don't have anything nice or constructive to say, please don't say anything. I don't need more negativity in my life; I am already a pessimistic/negative person so I don't need more bad thoughts to weigh me down.
> 
> Also, I was partially inspired by the movie "If I had Wings" which Richard Harmon does star in as a blind track athelete. It's actually a good movie, but not sure where you can find it online. I also have a thing about reading stories with deaf, blind and or mute characters- it always makes the story interesting in my opinion.
> 
> Please let me know what you think; I'm considering adding on another part to his but not entriely sure.


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